Walking on Air
by penumbraaa
Summary: Harry Potter is losing his mind. Who will be there for him when he finally breaks? Rating for self-harm and eating disorders.


THIS STORY FOLLOWS OoTP BUT COMPLETELY DISREGARDS HBP. SNAPE IS STILL POTIONS MASTER AND HARRY IS INCREDIBLY ANGSTY AND JOURNEYING INTO THE ABYSS OF INSANITY. THIS MAY BE TRIGGERING. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Please love me! (Favorite+review xD)

* * *

><p>Insanity.<p>

Sometimes Harry wondered how to describe it.

Perhaps like inky blue mixed with a searing red, swirling together, turning from color to color, never stopping. Perhaps he would call it words upon words, screams upon screams, letter upon letter, stacked until everything was a blur, a blissful haze.

Insanity, to Harry, was no longer seeing the line between good and evil. It was questioning what he loved and finding the value of what he hated. Insanity was having ideas- millions of ideas, incomprehensible ideas- and not having a way to communicate them. It was thinking about death more than life but life more than death and having crazy, unsurpassed obsessions and addictions to oddities. It was losing yourself within yourself and understanding but not comprehending and seeing the world on a scale so wide you realized that, in the end, you didn't matter.

Insanity was going crazy but never crying. Insanity was everything everyone overlooked. Insanity was well-hidden and stored away in meaningful places.

Harry Potter was going insane.

* * *

><p>On the first day back to Hogwarts, Harry Potter was walking on air. He could hear Hermione and Ron talking, but their words were hollow and empty.<p>

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her tone impossibly concerned.

"_What?" _Harry replied, agitated. He had been thinking. He couldn't really remember what of, but he had been _thinking_, and he had been interrupted.

Hermione stopped in her tracks and stared at him strangely.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Fine," Harry replied, because that's what he was. What he always was. _Fine. _

"Mate, if you ever want to talk-" Ron began, nudging Harry's shoulder and smiling slightly -"I'm here. Okay?"

"Okay."

_Okay_. Harry liked the sound of the word. _Harsh. Jagged. _Round but sharp, curved but linear. It sounded broken but glued back together.

And then he started thinking about the letter O, and how it was purely infinite, how it was full and roaming and never ending. Harry liked things that had no stopping point. That's what he wanted to be.

And as he stood in the hallway, contemplating thoughts no one else would understand, his friends stared back at him, worried expressions splayed across their faces.

* * *

><p>"Do you think he's okay, 'Mione?" Ron asked a few nights later in the Common Room. He had his books spread out in front of him and a quill in his hand.<p>

"Who? Flitwick? I _did_ notice that his spells seemed a bit off today-"

"_No, _not Flitwick. _Harry."_

The mood quickly changed from carefree to grim in a matter of a few words. Hermione gulped and looked away.

"Oh, Ron," she whispered, and her voice dripped with sadness.

"He's been so detached, so unlike himself. I'm really starting to get worried," Ron muttered, setting down his quill and running his fingers through his hair.

"I think he's taken Sirius' death really seriously," Hermione said, biting down on her lip.

"I would, too, if I were him. Sirius was a huge part of Harry's life. His last father-figure," Ron replied, his stomach dropping. _His last father-figure. _

"We need to let him know he has us," Hermione resolved, her voice sounding a bit stronger. "That he's not alone."

Ron smiled ever-so-slightly.

"Yeah. I miss him," he mumbled, his thoughts journeying back to when he first met Harry on the train. They had clicked right away, even though he was just a gangly redhead.

"I do too," Hermione whispered. "_I do too."_

* * *

><p>Harry's thoughts were killing him.<p>

When he closed his eyes, he was met with images of Sirius. When he opened them, he was confronted with the harsh reality of the world. With every word spoken, Harry had a thousand untamable thoughts, ripping through his skin and spurting blood no one else noticed.

He could see people's demons- hidden in their eyes, underneath their long-sleeved shirts, traveling through the holes in their hand-me-down robes. He was painfully, acutely aware of every severe thing that had ever crossed the world, and it was_tearing him apart._

Maybe that was why he dragged the blade down across the skin of his wrist that night. To escape the searing thoughts that his mind fabricated. To forget about everything he had done wrong and everything he had done right. To lose his incessant need to observe but not to understand; to tame the monsters that could see only the grays and the blacks but never the whites and the creams.

It hurt. God, it hurt, and the blood was crimson, the color of roses and war and the devil, and it was horribly beautiful.

The gashes weren't deep. Deep enough to return him to the normality he had missed and craved. Not deep enough to take him away forever.

He sat in the bathroom, his head against the cabinets, and he mourned because, in that moment, it was the most human thing he could do.

He didn't cry. He breathed heavily and thought about everything he regretted and it made his insides quiver.

He threw up.

His throat burned and his wrist hurt and he was taken away from his jail cell of hopes and dreams and back down to the bathroom. Everything was simple, and it was complicated beyond the measures of human thoughts, and it _throbbed._

The return of his mind left him wasted and bleeding, and he was only able to crawl back into bed when the others started waking up.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Potter!" Someone shouted from across the hallway. Harry closed his eyes; opened them; closed them again.<p>

"What, Malfoy?" He asked as the blonde boy came running towards him, a snarl on his face.

"How was your summer? Did you bask in the guilt of putting all of your friends in danger?" Draco asked, his expression quickly changing into a snide grin.

_Blue. His eyes were blue. Like robin's eggs and the sky and Hermione's eyeshadow. Blue like the ocean and all of its infinite molecules and atoms, spreading for a distance that's almost incomprehensible-_

"Shut up, Malfoy," he answered, struggling to keep his voice even. He could feel the low vibrations in his ears, and it calmed him.

"Poor little Potter, doing everything wrong. You're a freak," Draco spat, and Harry, desperate, sucked in a deep breath as the blonde haired Slytherin walked away.

* * *

><p>"Are you going to eat anything, Harry?" Hermione asked a few mornings later. Harry stared down at the pancakes, toast, apples, and bananas, and although his stomach growled, he shook his head,<p>

"Not hungry."

He was, though. He was _desperately _hungry. How long had it been since he'd last eaten? Two, three days?

He wasn't sure why he had stopped eating.

Maybe it was to lose weight. To see the bones hidden beneath folds of paled skin.

"You didn't eat dinner last night," Hermione whispered, and Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. I feel kind of sick, now that you mention it," he explained, rubbing his concave stomach for effect. Hermione, however, didn't seem convinced.

"Just have some toast. Or drink some pumpkin juice. Maybe that will make you feel better," she suggested, her voice breaking and growing higher.

"I'm really okay, 'Mione. Promise."

He stood up and walked out before either Ron or Hermione could say anything else, his eyes burning with uncried tears.

Maybe, _just maybe, _if he didn't eat, the demons inside would starve, and he could be happy.

* * *

><p>Harry stared at himself in the mirror.<p>

He was pale. His skin had grown pasty. His hair was its usual messy mop, but his eyes looked sunken, his eyebrows were bushy, and his glasses were ever-so-slightly crooked.

"I'm fine," he said to himself, thoughts of stars and suns and moons swimming through his head and, for a moment, disorienting him.

"I'm fine," he said again, straightening his posture. His adams apple stuck out of his throat like a knife. He gulped.

"I'm fine," he whispered again, resting his hands on the edges of the bathroom sink, dropping his head and drawing in great gulps of air.

He wasn't.

"Glass," Harry whispered, because the thought of something so breakable, so _transient, _calmed him.

And he thought about life, and it confused him an impossible extent. He was bewildered to the point where he felt like his head was going to explode and his hair was going to fall out and his brain would cackle because it was _torturing _him.

He did not sleep that night.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape was <em>not <em>happy.

He had just finished grading the most recent essays, and the grades had been all horrible if it hadn't been for the damn Granger girl who, not uncharacteristically, got a perfect score. Still, though, there was something unnerving about the essays, and it had to do with the fact that Harry Potter had not turned one in.

He didn't like the boy. Not one bit. He was a rule-breaking, nasty, Gryffindor, James Potter-esque _brat, _but there was something off about him.

Severus told himself that he didn't care. That the Boy-Who-Lived could ruin his own life all he wanted; that it didn't affect him.

That was the thing, though.

It did.

* * *

><p>"Harry," Hermione whispered the next day in Potions, hair frazzled from working.<p>

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any more mint leaves? I've run out," she replied, looking desperate and agitated. Harry was about to hand them over when he saw the daunting figure of Snape approach.

"Were you giving Miss Granger mint leaves, Potter?" He asked, his voice dripping with disgust.

"Yes," Harry said simply. Truly, he was in no mood for any of Snape's incessant rudeness.

"Yes _Sir. _It's time you insolent children learn some manners."

"There's no need to call me Sir, professor," Harry mumbled, and when he looked up, he had never seen Snape so irate looking. His onyx eyes quivered with anger.

The rest of the class silenced their laughs.

"I will take _none _of your childish nonsense today, Potter. Say _anything of the sort again _and you'll be booked with detentions for the rest of the year. And while we're on that same desperate topic, might you care to tell me why you didn't turn in my most recent essay on bezoars?"

Eyes.

Harry was fascinated with them. Each pair was different. Every eye held a disparate story; each holding ones of sadness and anger, others with happiness and joy. How had he missed Snape's, so barren, and yet so full? How had he not ever noticed the grief that was written into them?

"Potter," Snape said slowly, staring down at the boy. Harry looked as if he hadn't even processed anything the Potions Master had said.

"Potter!" Snape said again. Hermione stared at Harry with tear-filled eyes.

"Sir," Harry began, "do you know that two things can never truly touch? That the atoms of the objects don't allow it? That there's space between every atom? Did you know that some infinities are larger than other infinities, and that there's a very small infinity between each of the atoms? Did you know that if there's an infinite amount of measures between two objects we're all an infinity away from each other?" Harry asked, his eyes glassy. A thin layer of sweat coated his forehead.

"Harry," Hermione breathed, reaching out for his arm.

"Granger," Snape breathed. "Don't touch him. As for you-" he said, gesturing to Harry- "you will go to Madam Pomfrey's. Now."

Harry left without another word.

* * *

><p>He didn't go to Madam Pomfrey's. No, he went back up to his dormitory, where he laid down on his bed and, for the first time in days, ate an apple he had stolen from the Great Hall a few nights ago.<p>

And then, as he looked down at his bony stomach, felt the sudden need to weep.

* * *

><p>"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed that night at supper. Harry forced a smile onto his face.<p>

"Hey."

"What happened? Where's Ron? Oh, I'm _so _glad you're okay," she said, wrapping her arms around the wiry boy.

"Lack of sleep. I rested for a few hours. And I think he's over there," Harry said, pointing to where the gangly redhead sat with a girl named Lavender Brown. Harry could have sworn he saw Hermione's lip quiver, but he wasn't sure.

"Lack of sleep?" She said, turning her gaze back to his.

"Yeah. I feel fine now, though," he answered, and his throat hurt and his wrist throbbed.

"Good," Hermione replied, sitting down and beginning to eat her meal.

* * *

><p>That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Harry punched a mirror. He couldn't explain what made him do it. Maybe it was a variety of things.<p>

Glass shattered. His breathing was heavy. His thoughts were disjointed, coming in simple words and leaving in stories.

He picked up a piece of glass. It was dark, but it shimmered, almost like a star in the night sky.

He drew it across his wrist, his twisted, disturbed thoughts flying away with the birds. He focused his attention on the pain- _God, the pain-_ and he was feeling, but it was as if he were in a dream state. He remembered his parents, whispering words of love into his ear, and he was able to carry himself to bed and fall asleep.

* * *

><p>"I'm fine," Harry said.<p>

He wondered if time would slow down if he were to fall off a building.

* * *

><p>"Harry," Ron said, running to catch up with his friend on the way to Double Potions.<p>

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for not talking to you recently. I just thought I should give you some space," Ron replied, shifting his bag on his shoulder. Harry shrugged.

"It's fine, mate. You ready for Potions?"

"No. The homework confused me. Did you get it?" Ron asked.

"No."

Harry thought about the fact that he shared air with Merlin.

* * *

><p>"Potter," Snape sneered the second Harry walked inside.<p>

"Yes, Sir?"

"I would like a word after class."

Harry breathed. _In, out. In, out._

"Okay, Sir."

_Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay._

* * *

><p>"Sir? You wanted to speak with me?" Harry said after all the other students had left. Snape stood up from his desk and walked over to his vast array of cauldrons.<p>

"Yes, Potter. I was wondering what that-_episode_- a few days ago was all about."

"Episode, Sir?" Harry asked, suddenly lightheaded.

"You know _exactly _what I mean," Snape said smoothly, pulling out a cauldron and several ingredients. Harry turned away, closing eyes, counting to three.

"I was exhausted, Sir. I hadn't been able to go to sleep the night before."

"No?"

"No, Sir."

Snape paused with his work and turned to face the distraught student. His cheekbones were jagged, his hair was thin, and his skin was taut.

"Well, I don't want to hear another one of your delirious rants in my class. Perhaps you should eat more," Snape suggested, tone cool and collected. Harry sucked in his breath.

"I've been eating plenty, Sir," he whispered, gulping. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Whatever you say. You may leave, Mr. Potter."

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

><p><em>Hollow.<em>

Maybe that was what he was looking to be.

* * *

><p>Harry's hand hurt like hell.<p>

It was okay, he decided, to be in pain. It distracted him from everything he didn't do.

* * *

><p>"Harry," Hermione said tentatively, sitting down beside her blank-faced friend.<p>

"It's been a while. Are you mad at me?" She asked, biting her lower lip. Harry sniffed. He could smell the embers of fire, and it was the scent of anger and death and he_loved _it.

"No. Why would I be?"

Hermione looked close to tears.

"You're so….detached. I worry about you," she mumbled, picking at the skin around her nails.

Harry imagined himself in a straightjacket, confined to nothing but himself, and he shivered.

"I'm fine."

_Fine. Fine. Fine fine fine fine fine fine._

Hermione took one of his hands in hers. Her skin was warm and soft and Harry closed his eyes, trying to teach himself to remember how to breathe.

"What have you done to your hand?" Hermione whispered, and tears streamed down her cheeks and onto the bruises and scabs that cloaked Harry's knuckles. He looked away, not daring to let her see the emotion that was written on his face.

"Nothing."

"Have you gone to see Pomfrey? Harry, what happened?" She asked, running a gentle finger over one of the bruises. Harry squirmed and tucked his hand back underneath his robes.

"Nothing, Hermione."

His voice was icy. Frigid. Hermione let out a shaky sigh and disappeared, leaving Harry feeling more alone than ever.

* * *

><p>Harry reached his lowest point when the first snow fell.<p>

He hadn't eaten in what seemed like months. He had resorted to glamour charms, for his appearance was, in his mind, disgusting. Bones everywhere. Skin yellowed and pasty. Hair thin and spare. Teeth no longer their pristine white.

The scar on his forehead was not the only one.

He was going insane.

He laughed deliriously to himself when no one was watching. He ran through the corridors at night, not stopping until he had collapsed.

He liked the feeling of his body hitting the floor. He liked the feeling of reaching limits. He no longer felt the need to push them.

He ate and then threw it up. He stood with his hands and head against the mirror for hours at a time. He never, ever slept. He didn't need it.

He was losing his mind, and no one noticed.

* * *

><p>Harry first went to see Snape on a particularly fretful night during Christmas holiday.<p>

It was four o'clock in the morning and he was _depressed_. Every breath was painful; every movement was agony.

He wanted to die. _God, he wanted to die._

Snape hated him. That much was obvious. Maybe he would give him a potion. A potion that would put him to death. A potion that would take away the pain that he was going through.

He knocked at the dungeon door, glamours down, cheeks red, and hair more disheveled than ever.

It took three minutes for Snape to answer.

"Potter," he seethed, his expression unreadable. And then, as his eyes traveled down Harry's body, "_Potter."_

"Professor," Harry wheezed. _"_Professor, professor, professor," he mumbled, closing his eyes, opening them, unable to say anything more._"Professor professor professor."_

Snape stared at the Golden Boy, mouth open ever-so-slightly, and he gently grabbed Harry's shoulder, leading him inside. Now, Harry was coughing frantically, his head lolling from side to side.

"Potter," Snape said, and then, a little more kindly, a little softer, "Potter."

Harry stopped his frantic movements.

"I'm crazy. I'm crazy. I'm out of my mind, Professor. Crazy. Out of my mind. I'm lost."

Snape nodded slowly and walked over to his potions cabinet. In a matter of seconds, he had pulled out several vials.

"Drink these. Now."

"I want to die. Will these kill me?" Harry asked softly. Snape stared at him in shock. What was he to say?

"No. Drink up."

"I want to die," Harry groaned, sitting down on one of Snape's chairs and running his fingers through his thinned hair. "I want to die. I want to die. I don't want to be here. I want to be with Sirius," he moaned, scratching at his face. Snape pulled his hands away, waiting several moments before letting them go.

"Drink."

Harry took the four vials into his bony, scabbed hands and brought them close to his face. _Calming draught, dreamless sleep, nutrition potion, blood replenisher._

Finally, he drank them, and his eyelids began to droop.

"Meadows. Windows. Ron. Hermione. Mouse. Goodnight, Professor."

* * *

><p>What was Snape to do? Bring the boy back up to his chambers? No, that wouldn't be safe. Clearly, Potter was in a very unstable state, both mentally and physically.<p>

So, as a last resort, Snape picked up the boy, sighing. He brought him to his spare bedroom and laid him beneath the covers.

He looked sick.

"Goodnight, Harry," Snape whispered before he, too, headed back to bed.

* * *

><p>When Harry awoke, he felt ready to throw up. But, surprisingly, a little less rabid as he had for so many weeks before.<p>

"Potter? Are you up?" Snape said, opening Harry's bedroom door slightly.

"What am I doing here?"

"You had a little….._issue _last night. I didn't think it wise to bring you back to your chambers."

Harry stood up, knees wobbling slightly beneath him.

"I'm fine. I'm ready to go back."

"Fine? You're a mess."

Harry closed his eyes and sat back down on the bed. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and searched for the pointy bones that stuck out of his back. When he found them, he relaxed, as if reminded that he was _strong._

"Breakfast is in five minutes' time," Snape said, closing the door and walking to the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Eat."<p>

It was a command. Harry looked down at his empty plate and sniffed.

"I'm not hungry, Sir."

"Then have some pumpkin juice. I've enriched it with several nutrition potions because, Mr. Potter, you are severely underweight," Snape explained. Harry's stomach growled.

"Okay."

His voice was a mangled mumble. Snape smiled coyly and poured Harry a tall glass of the orangey-brown liquid.

"Drink it all. You'll feel better in no time," he said slowly, and, after three hours of patient waiting, Harry was done.

"Good. Now I think it's time we talk," Snape said, and Harry's stomach dropped. _Talk. He wants to know. He's going to find out about your craziness and he's going to kill you. Kill. It won't be so bad._

Harry walked over to the sitting room and sat down across from Snape, who looked excessively tired.

"I will permit you to go back to your dormitory once-_and only once-_ you have answered _all _of my questions. Truthfully."

"All, Sir?"

"All. Am I understood?"

Harry looked down at his stick-sized legs, at his bony fingers, at the scars that covered his hands and wrists-

"Yes, Sir. Understood."

Snape stared at Harry, straight into his brilliant green eyes-_ Lily's eyes_- and he realized that he had failed. He had failed Lily in his promise to protect her son. He had failed the Order and Dumbledore when promising to keep an eye on the child.

_God, he was stupid._

"Why have you not been eating?" Snape asked, his question cutting and crude. Harry stared at the ceiling, then back down to his hands, which were tangled up in each other.

"I don't know-"

"_Truthfully."_

"I wanted to starve them. Not me."

Harry winced.

Snape sucked in a breath. Of all answers, _this _was not what he had been expecting.

"Them?" His voice was quiet. Not exactly caring, but without its usual caustic edge. Harry carded his hands through his hair and, for a moment, stayed silent.

"The demons."

"Oh?"

"Can I go back to my dormitory now?" Harry whispered, resting his head in his hands. His eyes prickled with tears, but as usual, he held them back. This time, though, it took an intense amount of effort.

"I'm not done. Have you ever self-harmed?" Snape asked, and this time, the tears came. Harry began to sob, his whole body quivering with the sudden onslaught of emotions that he had held back for _so long._

Snape was beside him in an instant. He didn't touch the boy, no, but let him know that he was there.

When he was done, Harry's breaths were ragged and his eyes were puffy and red.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"For what, Potter? Living?"

Harry offered a tiny, broken smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"For crying, Sir. For crying."

"It's a natural human reaction. Nothing to be sorry about. Are you feeling better?" Snape asked, his voice somewhat kind but still very stiff. Harry rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his robe.

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you sure?"

This time, Snape was met with silence. It was the kind of silence that hung in the air, heavy and rigid, and slowly, he wrapped Harry's hand in his.

"It's hard, Professor."

Snape didn't have to ask to know what Harry was talking about.

"I know," he replied, offering nothing more than that tiny amount of commiseration.

"May I go back up to my dormitory, Sir?"

"If you take another nutrition vial. And may I ask what happened last night?" Snape asked, walking back over to his cauldron set and pulling out several small brown bottles and handing them to Harry.

"I don't know, Sir. I don't remember," Harry answered truthfully. "I know I haven't been able to sleep in over a week. I hadn't eaten in days. I think I just needed food and a night's rest."

"You haven't slept in a week?"

"No, Sir."

Snape was quiet. Harry blushed slightly under his intense stare.

"I can't give you another dreamless sleep. They're highly addictive," Snape said softly. Harry wiped his eyes with his robes.

"I wasn't expecting one, Sir."

Harry turned around to leave, his stomach, for once, full, and his head a little less filled with annoying thoughts.

"Potter," Snape called softly, and Harry turned around, a grim look on his face.

"Sir?"

"Do you have any open wounds?"

_In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out._

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied, quietly, impossibly quietly, yet Snape heard him. Harry walked over to where the Potions Master stood, and slowly, tentatively, rolled up his sleeve.

Red, still bleeding gashes cloaked his wrist.

"Potter," Snape said again, summoning a simple first-aid kit and quickly bandaging up Harry's damaged arm.

"May I go now, Sir? If I take another nutrition potion?"

"Yes. Also, stop putting up glamours. They drain your magic."

"Alright, Sir. Good day, Sir."

Harry walked out into the hallways, and almost as if on cue, lost his mind once again.

* * *

><p>That night, Harry couldn't sleep. He rolled out of his bed, out of the Common Room, and through the portrait hole.<p>

He didn't know where Filch was. He didn't care.

He walked through the hallways, once again trapped within his own insanity.

_Bones, _Harry thought to himself. _Bones and muscle and tissue and blood. Blood._

And then, he found himself in front of a small room, the door hardly visible next to the stone of the walls. He pressed his hands against it and found that it was icy and cool.

He pushed the door open, softly and slowly, careful not to make a sound.

Inside, it was pitch black. There were no windows.

"_Lumos,"_ Harry whispered, the tip of his wand lighting up. Immediately, he could see that it was not a room but a storage closet, filled with nothing but a single, lone item.

The Mirror of Erised.

Harry's breathing grew heavy and rapid.

"After all this time…..It's been _right here?"_ He whispered, walking over to it on light feet and gently running a finger over the cool glass.

_Look. Look into it. Look. Look into it._

He stepped back slightly, his eyes closed and his body burning in anticipation. When he opened them, he was confronted with his reflection, only healthy. Glowing. Beautiful. He was smiling and laughing with Ron and Hermione. His arms, which were exposed, were free of scars. His wide grin was innocent and sweet. In the background, fleetingly, he saw Sirius, and for the second time that day, Harry began to cry.

* * *

><p>The next night, when, yet again, Harry could not sleep, he resolved to go back to the mirror.<p>

He was feverish as he opened the closet door.

When he stepped inside, however, he realized that he was not alone. Someone else's wand had lit up the room, and there, sitting by the mirror, head and hands against the glass, someone was sobbing heart wrenching sobs.

Harry's mouth dropped open slightly as he saw pure black robes, greasy black hair, and papery skin.

"Lily," Snape was crying her name. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've failed you this way. Come back; please, please come back…."

His voice trailed off and was again replaced by throaty cries.

Harry, heart pounding in his chest, backed out of the room, his mind whirring.

_What had he just seen?_

* * *

><p>Harry visited Snape once more on the last night of Christmas holiday. It was not yet midnight, and it had been a long time since he'd slept but he'd been eating more and taking nutrition potions and, all in all, he looked much healthier.<p>

"Potter," Snape said, opening the door, silently inviting Harry inside with a nod of his head.

"What brings you here this late, late night?" Snape asked, sitting down on one of his chairs and taking a sip of his tea.

"I don't know, Sir," Harry replied, and it was the truth. What _was _he doing in Snape's dungeons?

"Potter," Snape said a few minutes later. "I have something to show you."

Harry looked at him quizzically but followed him towards another room anyway, too worn-out to care.

"This is a pensieve-"

Harry smiled.

"I know, Sir. I've used Dumbledore's," he explained. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"_Professor _Dumbledore. And I want you to see something in my pensieve."

He pulled out several glass bottles and poured them into the watery liquid. Harry watched them swirl together, momentarily distracted by the vibrant colors.

"You may enter," Snape said, and Harry did as he was told, plunging headfirst, his stomach dropping.

_What_ was he doing?

* * *

><p><em>He was falling. Ink swirled around him, warming up his cold and icy skin. And then, all of a sudden, he had landed somewhere.<em>

_Grass._

_He saw a small redheaded girl skipping towards a gate, which she promptly pulled open. _

_"__Goodbye, Sev!" She called, waving and grinning. Harry turned around to see a miniature Snape lying in the grass, propped up on his elbows._

_"__Bye, Lily!" He called, waving back, a small smile playing at his lips._

_However, the second she had left, Snape began to cry. Fat, watery tears dripped from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, and the sound of muffled sobs echoed across the hills. He laid down in the grass, his fists clenched into tiny balls, his knees tucked to his chest._

_"__I'm going to lose her," he whispered to himself, and his tears ebbed._

* * *

><p><em>Harry was falling again. This time, however, he landed in a small bedroom, nearly empty. There was only a bed, a small dresser, and a mirror on the back of the door. It was grim and gray and practically colorless. A slightly older Snape sat on the bed.<em>

_His sleeve was rolled up, revealing a wrist lined with milky white scars. A muggle razor blade was gripped between his fingers, and slowly, he dragged it across his thin, pale skin. Immediately, blood erupted from the wound, but Snape was careful to mop it up with a few grayed towels._

_Tears, again, were dripping down his already hooked nose._

_"__What am I doing?" He muttered, and he did it again, and again, and again, until his arm was soaked red, brilliant and ruby._

* * *

><p><em>The scene changed. Harry saw Snape at Hogwarts, probably in his second or third year, wandering aimlessly about the halls.<em>

_"__Sev!" Someone called. Snape turned around to see who it was._

_"__Hey, Lucius," he replied quietly, looking sad as the blonde approached._

_"__You okay?"_

_"__Fine. Fine. Fine," Snape murmured, turning away and running his fingers through his greasy hair. Lucius, confused, shrugged and walked away._

_"__Fine," Snape said again, as if for good measure. "Fine."_

* * *

><p><em>The scene changed one last time. Harry was in some sort of manor, and the only people in the vast room were Snape and a younger, less snake-like Voldemort.<em>

_"__My Lord, I-" Snape began, but Voldemort interrupted._

_"__Save it, Severus. Do you or do you not want to join my forces?" _

_"__I can get a job at the Ministry, report as a spy-"_

_"__You may be a spy if you join me. I know you do not wish to," Voldemort said, his long, white fingers tracing the intricate patterns of his wand._

_"__No, my Lord. I do. I do wish to join you. Trust me on that, if nothing else," Snape answered, the intense fear obvious on his face._

_"__Then give me your arm," Voldemort instructed, and Snape, shaking violently, surrendered his left arm, handing it over to the tall, pale man, who took no notice of the array of scars. _

_Voldemort pressed his wand against Snape's arm, who began to scream, and the last Harry saw were the first few lines of a tattoo._

* * *

><p>"Well?" Snape said upon Harry's return.<p>

"Sir," Harry began, out of breath and quivering slightly. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be. Do you know why I showed you those memories?" Snape asked, rubbing his hands together. Harry shook his head.

"If you continue down this dangerous path, Potter, you'll fall into nothing but trouble."

Harry stared at the greasy haired Potions Master, and once again, he felt the sudden need to cry.

"I don't know how to stop. I'm going insane," he whispered. Snape pressed his lips into a fine line.

"Just try, Potter. Just try."

* * *

><p>Harry was in the first floor bathroom. It was pitch black, but the piece of glass in his hand glinted like silver. He gulped as he stared at it, a thousand thoughts running rampant through his head. He wanted to press it to his wrist- <em>God, more than anything<em>- but he remembered the mirror, and remembered Snape, and somehow, he was able to keep it away from his skin.

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was growing back, and he wanted to give in, he wanted to _see all of his bones once mo_re, he wanted to _see the blood flow from his veins and onto the floor_, but he held himself back and filled his head with thoughts of the few things that made him happy.

And then, someone was sitting beside him. Harry didn't open his eyes, but as the figure gently pried the glass from his hands, he knew exactly who it was. _Snape._

The figure didn't leave. The figure sat next to Harry until, in a shaky voice, Harry began to whisper.

_"__I'm okay."_

* * *

><p>"Harry?" Hermione asked one day in the Common Room. Harry looked over at his friend, smiling slightly.<p>

"Yeah?"

"Are you working on Defense Against the Dark Arts? I don't understand this spell," she said slowly, tracing the picture in the textbook with her finger. Harry grinned at her.

"It's easy. You just have to flick _then _swish. Use your wrist, not your whole hand. It's a delicate movement," he replied, happy to have been of aid.

"Oh," Hermione said, and then- _"Oh!"_

Harry's heart was warm, even though the temperature outside was cold.

* * *

><p>Harry stared at Ginny, and he smiled a true, golden smile.<p>

_God, she was beautiful._

* * *

><p>On the first of March, Harry, one last time, went to see Snape.<p>

"Hello, Sir," Harry said as Snape opened the door and invited the young Gryffindor inside.

"Potter. What brings you here?" Snape drawled, sipping at his tea. Harry shrugged, sitting down across from the older man.

"I don't really know, Sir."

"You look much healthier. Do you feel any better?" Snape asked, and Harry nodded slowly.

"I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For helping me," Harry mumbled, and Snape's lips twitched.

"You should thank yourself, Potter. Not me."

Harry then rolled up his sleeves, revealing hundreds of thin white lines. Scarred, but not open. Nothing new. Snape stared at Harry's arm before meeting his eyes.

"Progress, Potter," he grumbled, and Harry found himself grinning as he rolled his sleeves back down.

"I haven't been perfect," Harry admitted, standing up and brushing his sweater and trousers off. "I've skipped a few meals. I've not gone to bed a couple of times. I've thought about razors and glass more than I should."

Snape looked at the boy, _really looked,_ and he saw a damaged Gryffindor, broken but slowly repairing, and he felt his skin warm.

_Lily. Perhaps I haven't failed you._

"That's okay. You're okay," Snape said, because at the moment it was the most _human _thing he could say. Harry sniffed.

"I know."

Snape raised his eyebrows, causing Harry to smile.

"Anyway, I better get going, Sir-"

Snape stood up. Walked over to the boy. Took Harry's hand in his.

"Goodbye, Harry," he whispered.

"Goodbye, Professor Snape."

They stood in that same position for several minutes before, finally, Harry pulled away, and with a final look back, opened the door and walked away.


End file.
